Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [125]
“What about The Grawl?”
“They say he went home. He hasn’t been seen in Chiril for months.”
“I hope he stays at home.”
“Me too.”
Bealomondore declared that he would never be a dragonback warrior. “Give me the land beneath my feet,” he told Hollee and Maxon.
They sat on a knoll, watching the daredevil riders performing stunts that should aid them when engaged in fighting the enemy. Maxon busied himself sharpening Bealomondore’s weapons, the Sword of Valor and several knives. The tumanhofer artist whittled a slingshot from a fork in a branch.
Bealomondore shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen during combat. And now that I think about it, I’m very glad the distance to the ground was short.”
Hollee grinned. “You are the best sword fighter I know.”
“Swordsman,” said Maxon. “And he is good, but Paladin is better.”
Hollee scowled at her friend. “I was trying to make him feel better. You know, boost his confidence.”
Maxon laughed. “You don’t have to do that anymore. He’s good, and he works at getting better. And Paladin asked him to help in training the volunteers.” Maxon laughed louder. “It is a good thing Paladin brought the men here first.” His laugh died and the smile fell from his face. “Too many of our men went to the front lines with no preparation. They died.”
Bealomondore agreed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. If King Yellat had chosen his counselors wisely, the status of the war would be different. He’d shunned Paladin, and two of his generals who dared to contradict the favorite advisors had been sent away from the front lines. King Yellat had been pushed back until he’d been forced to take refuge in Amber Palace at Ragar. The city was under siege.
One could say the war was at an end. All that was needed was a formal surrender, but if they could trust their king to do one thing, it would be to refuse to admit defeat.
Paladin had a plan, and Bealomondore wanted to be there when he put it into action. Whether they could turn the tide remained to be seen. The artist-turned-soldier wanted to swoop in and save his country. The heroics of such a feat appealed to his romantic side.
But more to the heart of the matter, an impossible victory sounded just like something Wulder would appreciate. The stories in the Tomes often talked about Wulder’s sympathy for the least valuable person in the crowd. He found worth in the downtrodden. He elevated the lowly by recognizing significance in each soul.
The king’s army was war-weary, tattered in clothing and spirit, and crushed by rampant slaughter. Their morale hung as rags torn by the conquering army. Their thoughts of the future conformed to the quelling presence of King Odidoddex as ruler. They had all but given up.
Except for the men in this valley. Paladin shaped hope in each individual.
The time was ripe for miracles.
49
The Grawl Makes Plans
The Grawl sat in the shadow of a crag overlooking a high mountain valley. This place had been the home of Prince Jayrus, now Paladin. In the air, dragonriders practiced flying in formation, passing off supplies, and targeting bales of hay. On the ground, the tumanhofer with the fascinating sword demonstrated swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. The old librarian, Librettowit, also gave instructions.
Along the southern wall, tumanhofers went in and out of an entrance to the mountain. Perhaps they were mining, but The Grawl had seen no evidence of ore being processed. The cut stone brought to the surface outlined a large square. A building of some sort would rise there. Since the tumanhofers concentrated on getting the stone out of the hole rather than building on the foundation, The Grawl assumed the outside structure was secondary to a more urgent job taking place within.
A lake with an island sat at the east end of the big valley. Very little activity took place on this sparsely wooded lump of land.
Every night, in the meadow outside